- Me: Tips toes quietly through the house, trying not to make a sound.
- Everyone else: Let me just stomp through out the house, slam a bunch a doors, and bang some pots together in the kitchen, I'm sure no one will mind.
Sometimes I wonder if everyone is a haunted by ghosts as I am. I don’t mean the ‘things that go bump in the night’ kind of ghosts, but rather a memory. The kind of ghost where you pick up a note book and read a note from months ago and remember. The kind of ghost that lingers in the corner of your eye. The one that hangs around the tube of lipstick and the cigarette burned out in the ashtray, a hint of a story that refuses to disappear until it’s told.